Beginning the Conversation
by Goblin Cat KC
Summary: 3x4 -- Trowa discovers that Quatre's hooked on pills, substituting the high for something he isn't getting.


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Beginning the Conversation

Warnings: angst, shonen ai, drug use

Disclaimers: Gundam Wing characters belong to Mixx Entertainment, Koichi Tokita, the SOTSU Agency, Sunrise, Kodansha and anyone I may have forgotten, not to me. I make no money off of this.

A loud noise roused Quatre out of his slumber, prompting a little moan as he sat up. For a moment his head felt light and he thought he might fall over, but he quickly righted himself again. He felt so awfully tired, which was odd because he'd slept for such a long time. He glanced over the digital clock, the red numbers unfocused in the darkness. After a few seconds, he managed to read the time. Two-thirty in the morning.

__

What woke me up? he wondered, staring out the window. Bright lights flashed for just a moment before the night was black again. _Oh, a gundam came in. Must be Trowa._

At the thought of that name, he groaned and swung his legs over the bed, standing up and staggering to the attached bathroom. The nightlight was on, so he let his eyes adjust a little before turning the lights on. With a muted curse, he stared at himself. Unruly hair fell in front of his eyes, which were red from crying and too much sleep. His skin was even paler than usual, and his cheeks had hollowed in a bit.

A humorless chuckle rose out of him, and he glared with unaccustomed bitterness at his reflection. "Now Trowa will never like me. How could he love something so ugly? And so stupid?" He turned the faucet in the sink and cupped his hands under the water. After splashing his face a few times, he took a quick drink before turning the water off and drying himself. He turned the light off again and sat back down on his bed, not moving for a few minutes. He wanted to lay down, but he didn't seem to have enough energy to make his body obey his mind.

"I'm cold," he said to no one. Hearing footsteps approach his door, he decided to avoid what he thought was coming and reached into the nightstand, pulling out a small white bottle.

"Quatre?" Duo called, knocking. "Quatre, I know you're awake, I heard you. Trowa's back. Quatre?"

"Go away," Quatre growled as he lined up the arrows on the cap's opening.

Outside the door, Duo sighed and turned to watch Trowa come down the hall. "I'm glad you're back, man. He's been acting like this for days."

Trowa's glance switched between Duo and the door. "What happened?"

Duo shrugged. "Not a clue. Right after you left, he locked himself in and refused to say anything beyond 'go away'. I don't think he's had anything to eat for four days."

"Is the door locked?"

Duo nodded, but the first smile in four days broke over his face as he held up a key. "But I stole the spare from the cabinet downstairs. Look, I gotta take off on a mission. Take care of him, yeah?"

Trowa took the key with a nod of thanks and watched as Duo left, giving the two some privacy. "Quatre," he called, giving his lover a chance to open the door willingly. "Let me in."

"Go away."

"Quatre...I want to see you."

"I'm going back to sleep."

"Quatre, please."

"Go away."

Trowa sighed and unlocked the door. Something red flashed by, only inches from his eyes, and crashed against the wall before falling to the ground. Trowa didn't have to look to know it was the clock.

"I said go away," Quatre growled, his voice low. "I want to go back to sleep."

Trowa didn't answer. Almost casually, he turned on the lights. The blonde gasped and shut his eyes tight as the glare hit him, turning away from the bulb in the center of the room. Trowa's stared in quiet shock at the sight before. No longer the joyful, animated pilot he'd known, Quatre's entire attitude had changed. One hand covering his face, he glared at Trowa from the corner of his eyes as he all but snarled at him. His breathing came in shallow gasps and his eyes practically burned.

"Quatre...what happened?" Trowa whispered.

The little Arabian smirked and fumbled at the bottle again. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. So I'm going back to sleep. Go away."

Trowa shook his head and stepped in front of Quatre. "No. What's wrong?" He knelt down, resting his hands on Quatre's shoulders, and stared up into his face. "Quatre?"

The Arabian stared through Trowa, not willing to admit anything. "I'm just going back to sleep."

"How long have you been sleeping?" Trowa asked, noting the bloodshot eyes that were usually so clear he could see himself in them. "Since I left? For four days?"

Quatre gave a little nod and at last coaxed the top off of the bottle. He tapped two blue pills into his hand. Trowa's long fingers caught his wrist, however, holding his hand still before he could take them.

"Let me go," he growled.

Trowa swept the pills from Quatre's hand and slipped them back into the bottle. "What are these, Quatre?"

Quatre looked away.

"I can call Duo and ask him. I'm sure he would know."

"'Liriums," Quatre mumbled.

Trowa hissed in displeasure and shock. "Delirium? You're on delirium? How long?"

Quatre shrugged. "Since you left."

Trowa gazed into Quatre's eyes, finally noticing how dilated they were despite the amount of light in the room. The designer drug's most notorious sign was the "bedroom eyes" its users wore. "Quatre, do you know what those things do to you?"

Quatre laughed sullenly. "Delirium," he started, as if reading from a book, "causes dilated eyes, fever, loss of appetite and increased brain wave activity during sleep, causing its users to dream during the entire night. Addiction is slow, but addicts die soon after from sheer exhaustion brought on by vivid dreaming." He smirked. "Is that what you wanted to know?"

Trowa gently took the bottle from Quatre, easily overpowering his weakened hands. He took it to the bathroom, where he flushed the contents away. Once it was safely out of Quatre's reach, he returned to the bedroom and sad beside his lover.

"You got rid of them, didn't you?" Quatre whispered.

Trowa nodded.

"I can always buy more of it," the blonde said defiantly. He rubbed his eyes, and his hand came back with tears on it. "That wasn't nice," he whimpered. "I was having such nice dreams..."

Trowa lay his arm over Quatre's shoulders and held him close. "What were you dreaming of?" he asked. His quiet voice soothed the exhausted boy, lulling him into a sense of peace.

"You," Quatre said in a soft voice. "Talking to me."

Trowa narrowed his eyes, expecting a trick. "That's all?"

Quatre laughed again. "You speak to me in my dreams, you say more than you ever do in real life. You talk to me. You talk in whole paragraphs. You tell me that you love me, over and over and in so many different ways. You talk to me when you have nothing that important to say, and you start to speak when I pause in a conversation. You interrupt me, sometimes. You mention little useless things that don't matter, just so I can hear your voice."

Trowa took a moment to digest this. "You're wasting your life...just to hear me talk?"

Quatre nodded.

"Quatre...this has to stop."

"Uh-uh. I like it and I'm going to keep going until I dream myself to death. What a wonderful way to go, huh? Listening to you ramble. Every night I dream a miracle."

"You're dreaming your life away."

"Impossible," Quatre chuckled. "I don't have a life."

"I..." Trowa mumbled, "I thought you had one with me."

Quatre shook his head. "Nope. I wish. I want a life with you. I don't have a life with you, and I've come to the realization that I never will."

"That's not true," Trowa argued, a frustrated tone entering his voice.

"And when have you shared your life with me?" Quatre snapped. "When have you told me about your life, your desires, your wants and needs? Your fears? Things that make you nervous? Favorite foods, colors, sights? You know everything about me and I know nothing about you!" His voice rose at the same time tears did, spilling over onto his cheeks as he ranted. "Why don't you let me in? Why don't you ever talk? I know you want to, I see you look up and open your mouth when I stop talking, but you never say anything? I feel like I'm in love with a shadow!" Choked up and unable to continue, he put his hands to his face, muffling his sobs as he cried.

Trowa wrapped Quatre's shaking body up in his arms, rocking him gently back and forth. His smaller body was frighteningly cold, so he eased him back into bed and lay down next to him, kicking his shoes off before he pulled the blankets up. Having a small lover had its benefits, one of which was being able to completely engulf them in bed. Even with his head on Trowa's chest, Quatre's body ended at Trowa's calves.

"I'm...sorry, little one," Trowa whispered, not knowing what to say. "I had no idea that you felt this way. I only saw your smiles and thought that all was well."

"All was not well," Quatre grumbled, frustration mixing with his hopelessness. "You wouldn't talk, you wouldn't laugh, you wouldn't smile, sometimes you wouldn't even look at me!"

"I...am sorry," Trowa repeated. "I don't know what else I can say."

"That's the problem."

"I don't know how to be what you want me to be. I...I've been conditioned not to speak, to keep my voice down so no one would notice me. I don't...think I can change."

Quatre looked up at him, the "bedroom eyes" making him seem smaller and more vulnerable. "I don't want you to change. I only want to know more about you. I want to know why you're so quiet, I want to know exactly what every little look means. I don't want to be the only voice in this relationship, it...I'm not used to being lonely."

"And I am," Trowa said. "And that's the real problem. I don't know how to fix that."

Quatre sighed sadly. "I could make you sit with Duo every day."

That thought actually made Trowa chuckle. A tiny smile showed on Quatre's face when he heard it. "Maybe I'll just work on making you laugh. Yes, I will make you sit with Duo."

"He's not the one I want to sit with," Trowa murmured.

Quatre's smile broadened, although it was still just a pale glimpse of the usual cheery grins. "Do you really love me?"

Trowa nodded.

"Well, that's something." He opened his mouth to say something else, but instead a yawn forced itself out.

"I think you should get some real sleep," Trowa whispered. "No more pills."

"I guess not." Quatre sighed and wriggled closer against Trowa's body. "This doesn't let you off the hook, though. This conversation is far from over."

"At least the conversation began."

That brought a smile to both their faces, and they curled up together as they fell asleep.

The End


End file.
